Love Conquers All
by Parsat
Summary: Is death the end? Or is a shattered dream, a derailed romance the end? Or is there no such thing as the end, merely a pause in the grand scheme of things?
1. The Heresy of Rain

**The Heresy of Rain**

Rain.

It was everywhere. Cold, stinging water fell from the heavens as though the sky was mocking the earth below. It lashed on the backs of tall skyscrapers that loomed solemnly above, brooding. It seeped through every crack, and permeated through the soil.

Wind.

It accompanied its unholy companion in a macabre dance. It whipped through the air of Angeles Bay, bending over man and plant with its wrath. It seemed that the elements had fallen to apostasy, as if they had abandoned the order Mother Nature left them.

Ice.

It battered on the windows, attempting to break through and break through the quarantine of heat that man had created inside his building. It tore down all that was green, replacing it with a sterile gray.

Lightning.

How ironic that the master of darkness had light in its arsenal of fear. Its roar shattered the peace and muffled the shots that had shattered the lives of two lovers.

Disease.

Those foolish enough to attempt to defy the elements were silently poisoned. Fluid built in their lungs, and fire destroyed their body from the inside out. But the assassin named pneumonia would not hurt its own kind, the mercenary who had just completed the ultimate sin.

The elements had finally gone rogue. And as they swept over Angeles Bay, they aimed their sights on two humans, cowering from their rage.

Derek looked up at the sky, defying their punishment, still cradling the one he loved, whose life ebbed away with every drop of water and every flake of ice that collided against her.

Another streak of lightning, and Derek saw the dull red of blood oozing away into the blackness of a puddle.

The demons of his life came back to torment him, as if he was not already in hell. But he could not care about himself any longer. Silently he rebelled against them, clasping with his last bit of strength the corpse of his beloved, Angela Thompson, shielding her from the heresy of rain.

* * *

**Depressing? Yes, definitely. Before you come running to me to show me some outer demons, let me note that this is part of a larger work, alright? This is only the beginning of the end, both literally and metaphorically.**

**Also, you get a bonus if you can tell me the piece of literature the title alludes to.**

**UPDATE (August 8, 2010): It's been a while since I started writing this piece, and now that I look back at it, my prose is highly stilted. Being someone who seeks to improve, before I move on I'd like to revise and proofread the story I have posted already.  
**


	2. Waiting Room

**Waiting Room**

When Angie woke up, she was in a white place. It was not the white of bleached bones, nor the glossy white that burns the eyes, but the white of peace, a resounding pure white with the slightest tinge of pink. Gone was the howling wind and the pounding rain, replaced by a sterile but comforting background. It was neither cold nor hot, and there was a peaceful sound in the background, seeming to originate from a single chord long lost to man, in his endless lust to struggle. The white brightness was solid but at the same time swirled around her like a mist. It was palpable but impalpable all the same.

"Am I still at Caduceus?" Angie thought, still lying down but with eyes wide open. The world around her swirled as it started to take form. The white floor she was lying on slowly materialized, so slowly that she did not realize it was a bed until she felt the soft pillow under her head.

_Something's fishy here_, thought Angie as she sat up, only to realize that she was naked. Surprisingly, she felt not the slightest bit of shame, but sadly admired the perfect body she had desired to show Derek.

Derek.

She suddenly remembered the events she had been through before, the memories pouring down her in a wave of pain and sadness. Just then, she heard a creak sounding as if someone was coming into her room. She immediately wished she was clothed, pulling up her sheets in mortification.

The person walked over, framed by the door, and she gasped. It was Derek! She released her blanket, not even noticing that she had miraculously been clothed in her pink Caduceus uniform. She got over her initial shock in a second, though, noticing that the man seemed older and less boyish than her boyfriend, although his mellow brown eyes and messy hair were the same as Derek's. The man, dressed in his Sunday best, looked intently at Angie.

"You are as beautiful as Derek dreamed."

It was at that point that Angie knew who the man was, the person that he had loved second only to herself.

"Alexander Stiles?"

The man gave a melancholy smile and nodded.

"Am I dead?"

"Angie, I'm afraid you are…"

All of a sudden, her anxiety came to a head, and she leaped out of her bed, grabbing the elder Stiles.

"Please, no, say it isn't true! I can't be here!"

Alexander made no attempt to resist. Instead, he sadly bowed his head, and Angie wept.

"I never expected hell to be like this!"

At this Alexander spoke, "Angie, calm down and listen to me. You're only in the waiting room. It is not heaven or hell yet, but it is what you choose it to be for the moment." Angie looked up at him, tears in her eyes as he continued: "Look around you."

She looked around, and the walls seemed to disappear. She was back in the giant plain of white, and now she could see many people roaming around. Some were walking around sadly, while others looked through glass windows, and others went around opening various doors and stepping out, gently closing the doors as they went.

"We wait here for our loved ones to join us so that we may make the final ascent, but in the meanwhile, we have a few things to keep us occupied so that we don't go crazy. For example, take a look here," said Alexander, as a window appeared at their feet. Angie got down on her knees and looked down. She saw Derek, lying in a hospital bed, severely weakened by his overexposure to the weather, but still alive.

"Then what are those doors for?"

"That's the mystery about it. They disappear and appear erratically. Some are ajar, some are unlocked, and others are locked. But they are essentially our communication with the living world. We can enter the dreams of our loved ones, come down to act as an inner voice, or even a guardian angel. Some get lost after entering a door and become a ghost. And some even return back from the dead through those doors."

Angie thought for a moment. All this was coming at her so fast. But then a single thought came to her mind.

"Can I come back to life through those doors then?"

"It's very rare. Only one in a million, no, a billion, even have a door marked for them to go back, and ninety-nine percent of the time, it's locked. Your body must be intact though, that much I know."

Angie looked at Derek's father. He looked so wise, so fatherly. He smiled back at her, then said with a longing in his voice:

"For me it is too late. The only door I wish to pass through is that gate over through the horizon, where I will make that final ascension with those I love."

Angie looked to where he pointed. Over in the horizon, he could see two very large doors, grand and elaborately decorated, yet made of a single piece. It was like those usually seen leading to a ballroom, but much grander. It was white, and glowed with an ethereal beauty.

She looked at the Pearly Gates longingly, but deep inside she felt she did not want to go there, that it was far, far too early for her to enter. As this thought disturbed her mind like a pebble in a pond, with the ripples traveling to the very edges of the mind, the walls reappeared, and a door popped up onto the wall. Alexander and Angie gasped as they read the golden plaque on the door: Resurrection.

* * *

**Sorry that this chapter took some time. It is a vital chapter in explaining the mechanics of the afterlife. I apologize if this conflicts with your beliefs. To be honest, it conflicts with my own Christian beliefs. I also apologize if this chapter is too philosophical for you; I can say that I was definitely influenced by the paradoxical sayings in the Tao Te Ching.**

**I should also mention that this story will be nonlinear from this point. It will go through the perspectives of Derek, Angie, and others, both in the present and the past. Just telling you guys up front in advance to avoid any undue confusion. **

**Since I've gotten into the habit of bonus questions, here's a question for you classical music nerds like me: Who wrote the song referring to the "lost chord"?**

**UPDATE (8/11/2010): This chapter was actually pretty pleasing to read. Didn't correct very much.  
**


	3. Delirium

**Delirium**

The rain continued to pound through the night as Tyler Chase sat near the bed of his best friend. As Derek seemed to sleep placidly, Tyler made a futile wish that he would not be the one to break the news. As soon as he thought this, he saw Derek's eyebrows furrow, then he started to mutter Angie's name. His cries grew steadily louder, intermingled with groans of pain and longing. Tyler shuddered as a chill of sadness ran through his body, but he did not wake Derek from his nightmare.

A sea of black swirled around Derek. He could see little through the gloom; the only thing he could make of it was that he was in the midst of a swirling tempest. All of a sudden, he saw Angie step out, clearly visible, dressed in her uniform. She was pale, and even seemed slightly translucent.

* * *

_"Angie! Angie!"_

_"I'm sorry, Derek. I failed you..."_

_"No! No! Angie!"_

_"I tried to hold on, but I couldn't."_

_"Angie!"_

_"But we may have another chance. Please, Derek, listen to my will. Don't let them embalm me or disturb my body. Remember me, Derek, remember! I love you, Derek." And with that, she faded away slowly in another gust of darkness, clouding as her green eyes had when she passed._

* * *

"No, Angie! No!"

And with that Derek bolted upward, sitting straight. His eyes darted crazily from one end of the room to the other, and realizing that he was on a hospital bed, collapsed again onto his pillow from total exhaustion. Closing his eyes for a while, he then turned his head and stared at Tyler before asking him the inevitable question. He already knew the answer, but he could not believe it.

"Where's Angie?"

Tyler would do anything to escape this situation, but he knew that he had to tell him.

"I'm sorry, Derek. We tried to save her. We removed the bullet, but it went through too many vital organs. Angie's…dead."

Derek gave him a look of horror and pain like that of a starved, abused animal. "No. No! This is a joke, right? Tyler, this isn't the time to play tricks. Tell me the truth! TELL ME!"

Tyler bowed his head, tears running down his eyes. He did not so much as utter a syllable.

"Who tried to save her?"

"Me, Leslie, and Cybil, and Greg, Sidney, Victor…even Dr. Hoffman came to assist."

"Damn you, Tyler!" Derek sobbed. "Why couldn't you save her? Why couldn't you, and Leslie, and Cybil, and Greg, and Sidney, and Victor, and even Dr. Hoffman fucking save her?"

"We tried, Derek…"

"Fuck you, Tyler! Fuck Leslie, and Cybil, and fuck Greg, and Sidney, and Victor, fuck you all! You killed her! You all fucking killed her!"

A very long pause overcame the room as Derek's delirious rant ceased. Tyler kept his head down and did not look up. Then Derek broke down.

"I'm sorry Tyler. You guys did all you could to save her, and all I did was lie in a hospital bed. It's all my fault that Angie is—is…"

He could not finish the sentence, could not bring himself to utter that awful revelation. She was gone. Derek collapsed again from exhaustion.

* * *

_Another storm of jet black swirled around Derek. He wandered around, calling the name of his lost love. He could not see anything, could not see where he was going, could not tell whether he would stumble in a trap concealed by the gloom. All of a sudden, he saw a faint silhouette. It was dark and very ominous, moving towards him as fast as a wolf. And then it was visible, twisted and stunted, dark and translucent. The murky darkness changed into fire, burning fire, twisting into a blazing inferno, the hell that the creature, formerly a man, had brought into the dream._

_Derek could feel the heat, and immediately recognized the man as Adam, the progenitor of GUILT, tormented in hell. Adam's flesh was burnt, scalded, his face twisted, his body full of lacerations like those Derek had sutured many times before. The rudiments of his face seemed to give a twisted, macabre expression of triumph, his arm outstretched like as one in a living death, beckoning Derek to come forward._

_Derek's body was slowly drawn to Adam, although his mind resisted. Just as he took a step towards Adam, suddenly the lights turned on and a torrent of water appeared, extinguishing the fire, whisking Adam in it. Derek snapped back from the magnetism that had attracted him, washed by the wave of cool water that had appeared. And as he turned back, he caught a glimpse of his beloved, through the churning waters, the _deus ex machina_ that had saved him._

* * *

"Rise and shine, Dr. Stiles!"

Derek slowly woke up to see that it was morning. Although it was brighter than that dark night, it still poured buckets outside, pattering at the windows. Tyler was gone, but Leslie was on her rounds, checking up on the doctor. She stuck a thermometer into his ear, checking his temperature.

"Looks like your fever subsided. 99.1 degrees."

"Leslie."

"Hmm?"

"Was I…delirious?"

Leslie stared intently at him. "Derek, if there's anything I can do to make you feel better, I'll do it."

"Leslie, I'm sorry if I said terrible things about you or Tyler or anyone who tried to save Angie. I really mean it."

"I…I don't think you said anything on purpose. You should rest now. You've been under a lot."

"Thank you, Leslie. I really mean it."

Leslie turned to check on other patients, but stopped and turned around. "Oh," she exclaimed, "we have the contents of your pockets on the tray." She said this with an air of sadness and sympathy that reminded Derek painfully of Angie and the events that had happened.

Reaching over to the tray, he picked up a small box. He opened it to reveal a brilliant flash, a light of joy that now pained him. He picked up the ring, crafted from white gold with a single, iridescent diamond set in it, rolling it around in his fingers. And as he closed his fingers over it, he set his fist against his forehead, crying softly as he mourned over a dream broken, an engagement unengaged from the very start.

* * *

**UPDATE (8/11/2010)**


	4. The Quest Begins

**This takes place just after the second chapter when they see the resurrection door. Enjoy.**

* * *

**The Quest Begins**

Angie gasped and froze. For a while, her mind went totally blank as the suddenness of the event shocked her. Then, she quickly placed her hand on the doorknob, only to find that it would not turn. She twisted with all her might, but it would not turn. It was locked. Angie pushed and pulled, then desperately tried to ram the door down with her thin frame. A wave of pain rippled through her shoulder as she threw herself at the door.

"Help me!" she screamed at Alexander, who lent his strength to prying open the door. They tried for what seemed like an eternity, but the door remained unopened.

Angie could not take it anymore. She fell down, weeping, wondering who had chosen to torment her in this way.

"Maybe Derek and I weren't made for each other. Maybe this wasn't meant to be," Angie sobbed, thoroughly crushed.

"No, Angie," said Alexander, kneeling down and looking Angie straight in the eyes, green to brown, "You two are a match. I've seen it. I've seen the threads connecting the two of you, and they grow ever stronger. I swear, Angie, I'll help you in any way I can to get you back down there where you belong, for your sake and for the sake of my son."

And with those words, a strange thing happened. A golden band mysteriously appeared, just appeared as abruptly as the door had, on both their wrists. Alexander raised his wrist, looking at the tiny lettering on the thin band: "Alexander Stiles—Angela Thompson."

"I don't believe this…"

Angie, still sniffling, stared at the simple gold band around her wrist. "Wha-What is this?"

"It means…I'm your guide now. But this hasn't happened for more than seven hundred years!"

Alexander rubbed the band. It seemed fused to his flesh, fixed as the door they couldn't open. Though he had studied the secrets of the afterlife since he came to the waiting room to while away the time, he had only heard of something like this once, when a Roman writer had been commanded to show a living man the waiting room as a guide. It dawned on Alexander that they might have a chance, that whoever was up there was giving them an opportunity. He held Angie, comforting her as only a father could, sharing her tears.

* * *

After Angie had calmed down, they had to decide on a plan.

"We need to make sure that your body is capable of being resurrected first. That'll buy us time to find the key for the door."

"So…we use dreams?"

"That's the only way going, unless you have a better plan. Just go through the doors with the names of the people you know. They'll pop up as you wish for them. After you do that, we'll look for the key."

Alexander glanced at the doorknob, examining it.

"It looks like the right key would be a golden skeleton key. Something—I'd say—around two to three inches."

Angie was confused. She didn't know how Alexander knew what he knew, nor did she know where to look for a key.

She sighed, "You're going to have to help me a lot with this."

Alexander smiled. To him, Angie was like the daughter he had always wanted after Derek. "Of course. We're in this together now."

* * *

**And so the quest starts. By the way, you get bonus points if you can tell me what piece of literature I'm referring to with the Roman writer and the guides.**

**UPDATE (8/11/2010)  
**


	5. Dreams

**TCGeek: :Glares for me to kick my butt updating this to avoid her fiery doom:**

**Me: Gah! :Starts typing like a freaking maniac:**

**This part of the story takes place after all previous chapters. For all you pairing people out there, this chapter has some Tyler/Leslie in it.

* * *

**

**Dreams**

Kenneth Blackwell shivered and clutched the blankets closer to him. His mind relayed the awful news he had received, that two people, the murderer and his daughter, had been killed. His future son-in-law had been grievously injured. When he heard it, it felt like something in him snapped, as if something in his heart finally cooled and froze over. He remembered the sacrifice that he had done to save his only daughter, who was finally dead by circumstances beyond his control.

The lone guard standing guard could hear the sobs emanating from the cell where the prisoner dwelt. Although he looked impassive, inside he sympathized with the man who had lost his only child. The sobs grew quieter and quieter until they grew silent. _Good_, thought the guard, _I think I'd go insane if he didn't stop_.

An hour later, the sobs returned, but this time the guard could hear words mingled with the crying. "Angie…no, please! Angie!" the old man shouted, as the dream seemed to reach its climax. His voice gradually decrescendoed until there was another uncomfortable silence. The guard walked over to the man's cell, peering through the window. He was lying there, his face seemingly in anguish. Blackwell then bolted up all of a sudden, bathed in sweat and tears, gasping for breath. His return to the waking world had been so sudden that the guard had almost shouted in his surprise. Hastily the guard went back to his post, unsettled.

On the other side of the world, in Germany, Elizabeth Thompson opened her eyes violently. Although it was a warm morning, the dream, the memory of her daughter's will had chilled the air, giving her goosebumps. Immediately she got up, packed her belongings, and boarded the earliest plane she could to Angeles Bay.

* * *

Leslie didn't believe it when she heard that her best friend had been shot. The usually happy-go-lucky nurse was shaken to the core to the core now, living in a nightmare. Even when the best surgeons that she knew struggled to save Angie, death proved to be wilier than all their minds put together.

"Time of death: 12:04."

She couldn't take it anymore, this awful fact. She launched herself at Tyler, squeezing him as she wept into his shoulder. Tyler held her, dumbstruck at what had happened. Everyone was affected. Victor, who was usually impassive, seemed even more dour than usual.

"Oh, my God," Leslie cried, "How will we tell Derek?"

"We will, Les, we will," Tyler murmured in her ear.

After that, Leslie had gone to the lounge, lying down on the couch, still tearing up. Before long, she had fallen asleep; her drowsiness had overcome her so quickly she did not realize it.

* * *

_Leslie couldn't see anything through the murky darkness that swirled around her; She could only feel her hair being blown every which way by the gust. Desperately, she looked for some sign of life in the darkness. There was none._

_Suddenly, she saw her best friend materialize in the midst of the dark maelstrom. It was Angie, pale and translucent. It was the sight of her that galvanized Leslie and made her happy in that sweet way; she ran over and gave Angie a big hug. She was relieved to find that Angie was at least solid. Angie was a little shocked, but then returned the embrace._

"_I miss you so already. I don't know what I'd do without you."_

"_I might have a chance here, Les. I need you to do something for me."_

_Leslie had no idea what Angie was talking about another chance, but she would do anything for her friend. "What is it?" _

"_I need you to look after Derek for me. Make sure he doesn't lose himself for me."_

_Leslie looked her straight in the eye, realizing what she was going for. She was filled with faith, faith that some miracle might actually happen._

"_I'll do it," she replied resolutely. Just then, she heard Tyler's voice, loud enough to pierce through the swirling wind, trying to wake Leslie._

"_See you again, Les. Farewell!"

* * *

_

"C'mon Leslie, wake up!"

Leslie opened her eyes with great difficulty as they were being bombarded by fluorescent light. Instead of the darkness, her eyes were now filled with the sight of Tyler shaking her. She groaned a little, very tired, noting with a little embarrassment that she had drooled a little.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"About three hours. Derek woke up while you were sleeping."

"What did he say?"

"He was delirious. He was broken. He was just really weak."

Leslie wept as she realized the magnitude of what Derek had lost: love, life, and happiness. She held Tyler as she wept again.

"We need to help him. We're the only people that can comfort him."

Tyler held her back, tears streaming down his own face as they held each other in their grief. "Just don't you leave me, Leslie. Don't leave me."

* * *

**And so the first plan in Operation Resurrection starts. A little tangential, perhaps, but I liked writing this chapter. Please review.**

**UPDATE (8/12/2010): This chapter's prose was especially poor upon rereading. :P Many corrections were made.  
**


	6. What is Love?

**What Is Love?**

After a marathon of opening doors and entering dreams, Angie was a little more comforted at seeing her friends again, but she still wasn't sure what they would do to find a key.

"So…where do we find the key?"

"Well…the actual process of finding a key isn't hard, it's just tedious. All you have to do is just open a door marked as a closet, and inside there are cabinets full of keys of all kinds."

Angie couldn't believe her ears. She was expecting some sort of adventure like she read in fairy tales, or in an epic.

"All we need to do is look in closets and rummage for keys? How hard can that be?"

"That's what they want you to think. There are so many closets around here and so many cabinets filled with thousands of keys, it would be like finding a single needle in a whole hayfield. If anything, that's the genius of the people up there," said Alexander, with a discernible stress on the "up there," "There are always going to be plenty of gutsy people around who are going to fight and battle and risk their souls to get back. But patience is such a rare virtue; true love and commitment is so uncommon that it's the perfect plan. Do you get it?"

Angie nodded, biting her lip. For once she started to feel the pangs of doubt gnawing at her. Did she really love Derek that much to search for that one key to salvation? Or would she give up midway? She pushed aside those thoughts as she walked over to the nearest closet.

"Let's get started."

* * *

Silver. Gold. Brass. Pewter. The dazzling piles of keys in the cabinets had mesmerized Angie. It seemed that she had spent several hours pouring over the keys, looking for that skeleton key, but she had not even finished examining one cabinet. Keys were everywhere; wherever she looked, even when she closed her eyes, all she could see was an image of a key, burnt into her eyes. Alexander was next to her, also pouring over a cabinet of keys. They had been silent for the whole time, but he broke the silence.

"Do you really love Derek?"

The question caught Angie off-guard. It revived the guilt in her heart that had lay dormant, buried by keys.

"Well, y-yes! I do! Why would you ask me a question like that?"

"Your face shows doubt. I can see it. I asked you if you truly loved Derek. What is love?"

Angie didn't know how to reply to this vexing question, a question that many a philosopher has attempted to crack.

"Or let me make it easier. What do you think is the ultimate expression of love?" asked Alexander while looking over the keys, examining all the ones that looked golden. Angie remained silent as the doubts swam through her head, even to the point of distracting her from examining the keys.

"Umm…sex?"

Alexander chuckled a little. "Funny how everyone down there thinks that sex is love and love is sex. How people think that if you feel horny when you see someone, or you have sex with them, that means you're in love with them. But in all seriousness, it's not what I've seen staying here in the waiting room. Sure we can physically have sex here, but all our loved ones are down there, and there's no point of it. But if I've ever learned something here, it's that there's something greater than sex, and that's just holding someone that you've lost or thought was lost. When you finally embrace someone that you've been separated from, you forget everything. You feel joy you've never felt, but you also feel something indescribable. And that's divine love. You can't describe it, but when you feel it you won't have a single doubt in your mind that this is it."

Something curious happened at this point, and it was that Alexander started to sing. His voice wasn't the best, he wasn't a professional or anything of the sort, but the tune was otherworldly. It had some sort of pure harmony in it, full of dissonance and yet without any at all. The words seemed so familiar, yet they seemed to be something distant as well.

"_Love is patient, love is kind. It is not rude, it does not boast, it is not proud. Love is not rude, it is not conceited, it is not provoked, it forgets all transgressions. Love takes no pleasure in evil, but rejoices with the truth. Love protects all, trusts all, hopes all, endures all, sustains all. Love never fails. But while prophecies will be fulfilled and pass on, but while tongues will speak and fade away, but while knowledge will know and yet forget, love conquers all and will never pass away._"

Alexander finished, and a long silence stilled the air. Then he disturbed it yet again, but this time with a quiet, placid voice rather than the passionate voice he had used. "If your love for Derek is like this, then continue on."

And at that moment Angie forgot her doubt and her guilt, because she knew that it was capable, she knew that she could love and continue on, because anything was possible, because love conquers all.

* * *

**I apologize if my moralizing disagrees with whatever you believe in, but I feel like I had to hit towards the theme in a more serious manner than it just being a title. I basically copied this sequence from a dream I had some time ago, so it felt natural to write. Kudos to you if you can identify the source of the song. I also hope my reasoning also helps to explain why there isn't a giant adventure for a key; I always think that patience is a much rarer virtue than courage.**

**UPDATE (8/12/2010)  
**


	7. Kyrie Eleison

**Before I begin the next chapter, I apologize for the long delay. Ever since school started it has been sapping my time, my energy, and my creativity. As a result, I've been unable to really write anything longer than a review. Hopefully Labor Day will lighten up for me. **

* * *

**Kyrie Eleison**

"The constant downpour that started five days ago in Angeles Bay shows no signs of abating, baffling scientists with its sheer volume of rain and localized area of rainfall. In other news, the killer of nurse Angela Thompson was found dead yesterday in an alley. Although he was wounded by a bullet shortly after killing her, he is believed to have died from cyanide poisoning—"

Derek turned the TV off.

Rubbing his eyes but unable to rub off his weariness, he collapsed back onto his pillow. For five agonizing days now, every waking moment became a reminder of Angie. He couldn't even look at the food he was given without remembering whether Angie would like it or not, although he was also discouraged by its sheer unappetizingness. Compounded by his fatigue and general malaise, Derek felt more dead than alive. Only the fact that he would be able to see Angie one last day at her wake two days from now gave him slight solace.

His other tethers to life came into his room. Leslie and Tyler strode in, carrying a very large sack.

"Mail time, Derek!" Leslie said in her usually cheery tone. She was very good at masking her sadness. One had to search very deep to find that extinguished, melancholy part of her in her eyes.

Heaving with Tyler, she deposited the giant sack of letters onto Derek's bed, watching his somewhat shocked expression.

"W—Wow. That's a lot of letters."

"Well, take your time reading them. We've got some stuff to do. See you later!"

They left, leaving Derek with the sack full of letters in his lap. He reached in and took one, opening the envelope slowly and reading the flowing handwriting.

_Dear Dr. Stiles,_

_I saw on the news about the death of your nurse Angie, and I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for what happened. I remember when she and you visited me after killing the GUILT in my body, I could tell that you two really loved each other. I remembered hearing a rumor when I was at Delphi that Angie was actually Blackwell's daughter, and I think it's true now. I don't know if that means I should hate her, and I don't wish I did. I wished I had someone who could stand up for me like her dad, and you guys helped me so much. I don't know whether you'll read this, but if you do, I hope I helped to pay my debt to you and comfort you._

_Feel better now,_

_Emily Johnson_

_PS: I also sent my most prized possession along with this letter. Never lose faith! I just know something will happen. _

Most prized possession? Derek shook the envelope, and a silver necklace fell out. There was a crucifix on the gleaming chain, just two simple bars molded into one another perpendicularly.

Although his mother was a devout Catholic, Derek had never quite grasped religion as strongly as she did. He had only gone to mass a few times, and half way through he had fallen asleep. His inner demons tore at him again.

_How can God exist? He took her away!_

"No…"

_You know it to be true._

"It…can't…be…"

Another voice, another ghost came to haunt him. It taunted him with a tone that cut to the core of his heart.

_Foolish mortal…how could you think she could actually be saved?_

"Him again…"

_There is no hope…_

"Stop!" Derek shouted, snapping out of his daze. A headache violently pounded his temples as he clutched his face, trying to block out the pain he had suppressed. Then, the weight of his demons disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. His migraine throbbed and was gone. His mind was filled with a single message, two words he remembered from the masses he had gone to. Derek had no doubt who had sent it to him, the benevolent being that always stopped whatever they did to rescue Derek from the clutches of evil.

_Kyrie eleison_.

But what does it mean?

Clutching the cross, he repeated it over and over in his numbed mind. The world started to darken and fade, but the words remained.

Leslie walked into the room to see the sack still on Derek's lap, his glasses askew, still holding onto a silver cross. Hauling the bag off him, she pulled him down into a lying position, tucking him into the bed. She stopped to look at him: a shell of his former self, a man who had the Healing Touch but at the same time had not been touched by a healing hand. She sighed, turning to check on the next patient:

"Lord, have mercy."

* * *

**Bonus point time: The name "Emily Johnson" is actually a reference to another character in UTK2, which should be fairly obvious if you've played the game. Since this story takes place after that game, I ran upon some snags when using cameos.**

**UPDATE (8/12/2010)  
**


	8. Recantation

**Apologies that this has taken me forever to write. Much has changed since my original vision of the story-my experiences, my knowledge of the world-but my original outlook remains the same. Still, I found editing my former chapter of 4000 words (uncharacteristic of me) very daunting, because I could imagine every minute detail. As an author though, it's important to realize the value of editing and revision, and cutting out the extraneous. So did it really take me nine months to come up with this chapter? Perhaps, perhaps not. You, my reader, will have to ascertain that fact.  


* * *

**

**Recantation**

"We haven't looked into that one yet."

"Is it a closet?"

The door was made of blackened steel, with a sort of pull-handle rather than a knob. "Maybe."

As Angie reached for the handle, the door swung open and a strong figure burst through, knocking Angie to the ground. He immediately stopped, bending down to help Angie up **and **apologizing profusely. As he bent down, their faces met, and they recognized each other.

"You!" Angie burst out, quickly scrambling to her feet.

The man was speechless, turning his face away in mixed surprise and shame, still crouched down.

"Who is he?" asked Alexander.

"He—He tried to kill me!" Angie spat out quickly. She expected to be attacked at any moment by the man, but much to her surprise he still stayed crouched, even shaking slightly. She immediately regretted her words, but she remained silent. He quivered for a little bit more, then looked at them and with a quavering voice asked: "Why must you torment me?"

He had a muscular frame which belied years of training, and his gray eyes were one of those piercingly gray Italian eyes. He looked at Angie intently, making her very much uncomfortable at her actions.

After a lengthy silence, Angie reached out a hand. "I'm sorry."

The man looked at her with his eagle eyes, then placed his hand in hers, gaining a lift from her. "I never got to know you," he said after he got back on his feet, "What is your name?"

"My name is Angie, and this is my guide, Alexander."

The man seemed to ponder the names in his mind. Then he replied: "My name is Marcus Palma."

* * *

The three wandered along the white plain. Although Angie and Alexander had both asked Marcus about where he was from and why he was here, he would not speak of it until they had answered the same questions about themselves. No matter how much of their lives they spoke of, though, it seemed that it would not satisfy the man.

"So I finally got together with my dad. I missed him so bad as I grew up. I would always wait in my bedroom, waiting for him to open the door and give me a kiss. But now I guess I know what kind of sacrifice he made for me."

Marcus absorbed every detail of the story he had just been told. "I understand. Our fathers were men of sacrifice."

Angie stopped walking. "Our fathers? What had happened to yours?"

Marcus closed his eyes, shuddering slightly. It seemed strange that such a hardened man would be so shaken.

"I was born in the projects in downtown Angeles Bay. My mother and father used to be in gangs there. After they met each other, they left them to make a better life. And so I was born. We weren't rich, but we were happy. But underneath all the happiness, you know, I could see that my parents were worried about something.

"I was innocent, only seven. I had no idea what kind of world I was being sheltered from..."

* * *

"_You betrayed us, Michael," came a foreign voice. From the crack exposed by the barely opened door, Marcus could not see the origin of the voice._

"_I didn't do anything of the sort," his father replied._

_He heard his mother shout. "Leave him alone!" _

"_Is this who you've left us for? You'd leave your own friends just to be with this...this..." came a second unfamiliar voice, just as menacing as the last, and even more spiteful._

"_Since when were we enemies?"_

"_If you are not our friend, you are our enemy. You can't just walk away. You were sworn in as part of our brotherhood with your own blood, and you cannot deny it."_

"_Armand, Brandt! We are still friends!"_

"_You left us, Michael. Either you leave her or you come back. Come back, and no one gets hurt. If you refuse, we will have to take things into our own hands."_

"_No! Just…don't hurt her. What did she do wrong that you need to hurt her?" _

"_She broke the contract you bound yourself to when you joined us."_

_A long silence broke out, but then he finally stepped forward._

"_You two. Get out of my house. No one threatens Maria in front of my face and gets away with it."_

"_Fine then. We'll up the ante."_

_There was a clicking sound._

"_Join us, or both of you die."_

"_Armand…Brandt…" Michael Palma took a step back, in the process positioning himself in front of Maria as a shield to any harm that might come. "Don't do it. Just don't hurt her."_

"_Then return to us."_

"_Just don't hurt her, just don't hurt her…"_

"_Michael…" she whispered._

"_You are making a terrible mistake, I tell you," the menacing voices came again._

_Then Michael's resolve finally tightened. "No! I won't let them touch you! Get out of my sight, you two!"_

_He suddenly left the window of Marcus' sight with a shout of anger, and the sounds of close-range struggle filled the air. A gun dropped onto the floor, the wielder disarmed, and the other seemed to stagger back. But his steps eventually evened out, and the struggle went on, and then—_

_BAM._

_Maria let out a small groan, clutching her chest. Then she toppled forward and lay still, not moving. Marcus wanted to run to her, but his eyes were glued to her body, his feet planted on the ground._

"_Maria!" his father's voice rang out when Marcus saw the gun on the floor picked up by a whitish hand and a series of shots ring out. There was the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor, followed by the loud descent of the murderers as they ran down the flight of stairs._

_Marcus bursted into the room. "Dad! Mom!"_

_His father groaned. "Marcus…"_

"_Dad…are you okay? Are you okay?"_

"_Daddy's…not well."_

"_We need to get you to the hospital!"_

"_No!" his dad coughed. "They will find you."_

"_Dad, don't leave me."_

"_Marcus…Maria..."_

_Quietly sobbing, he reached out for her unfeeling hand, cradling his boy all the while and marking him with his blood.

* * *

_

"My father would not go to the hospital, no matter how much I told him he had to go. We only had a little Tylenol, but when it ran out he did not let me go. He died a week later from an infected bullet wound, and I became an orphan."

They kept walking now on the calm surface, a grim silence between the three of them. Angie had tears in her eyes. He continued:

"I never forgot his blood on me. From that day on I swore to avenge my father. So I trained my body to be strong, and I joined the Marines. I served in Afghanistan and North Korea. After I was honorably discharged, I went back to Angeles Bay, confident that I could have revenge. And I did achieve it. I killed Armand and Brandt, but it felt different. In war I killed for my survival and for my friends' survival. Through their deaths I killed for the first time out of cold blood. I realized I could not kill for revenge. It was too difficult...but then I noticed something about their words, and later when I worked as hired death, something I noticed with all the people I killed."

Another long pause.

"What did they do?" Angie asked, with a feeling that this was the key to what had happened.

"It was wrong of me to rationalize...but I never recanted my reason, even if I knew I would end up in this position. If I did, I would betray my parents."

Her eyes widened. "You mean to say..."

"Yes. I violated the rules of my trade for you...and him."

Alexander interrupted. "I'm sorry if I was interrupting, but I'm not sure on the details of what happened-"

"Certainly. It's night now in Angeles Bay, isn't it? Why don't we head for a dream?"

A red door conjured in front of the three, and they stepped in, closing the door softly. The golden plaque on the door read: "Derek Stiles."

* * *

**UPDATE (8/12/2010)**


	9. Blood of Our Fathers

**Author's note: A new year, finally. And this still isn't finished...amazing. But we are driving with full force to the conclusion, so let me explain.**

**If you remember, there were several holes in the previous chapter that I set intentionally, and I'm pretty sure they confused you. Now that we are heading into the recollections of the past explained through an extended dream that our characters are experiencing at the moment, these will be answered in due time. Perhaps you will find some answers in this chapter. I would be extremely appreciative to read the questions you have in your mind as this story has wound along so that I can be sure that they will be answered.**

**For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.**

_

* * *

_**Blood of Our Fathers**

It was as benign a day as one could meet in Angeles Bay, warm and vaporless. The smog, which usually hung as an orangish mass in the distance, seemed to have disappeared. Even the projects did not seem quite so weightedly dull. Along the streets children played Cee-lo or shot marbles as pedestrians ambled past with the traffic.

It was also at that time that the strangest-looking sight came to visit Angeles Bay in search of something. He would have passed for a fine specimen of a man, if he had not passed his prime: a long, coarse beard not so far from that of a billy goat; bluish eyes with a singularly ambiguous gleam; a well-boned but not portly build, capped off with a fedora. He was carrying a very large doctor's bag which he swung easily, although it looked very heavy.

The man seemed to be looking for a specific building, stopping by each one and murmuring to himself in another language. Finally, he stopped in front of a certain project complex. What appealed to him was unknown; the specific building was just as worn and beaten as the others surrounding it.

The man climbed the stairs until he reached the third floor, now counting off each door. On door number 15 he stopped and knocked. After a long time, the door opened a crack to reveal utter darkness. The man took the message and quickly stepped in, and the door closed, leaving the two to their secrets.

There was another figure, very tall and foreboding. He could just barely make the figure out in the enshrouding, clammy darkness. There was the snap of a finger, and a single lightbulb reluctantly began to shed some light across the room. The tall man beckoned the old man sit on a small, dusty couch in the corner. The old man took a seat, removing his hat and placing it on the coffee table near him.

Without a word, Marcus went to him, picking up his finger and pressing it against an inkpad, then onto a piece of paper. From one of the many pockets in his great coat he held up another piece of paper, scrutinizing the two fingerprints. Then he put both papers in his pockets, looking down at the old man.

"Mr. von Raitenau. Welcome to South Central."

The old man's voice was gruff but quite clear. "Yes, a charming city, isn't it? The natural order here is strong."

Marcus' expression did not change, although his eyes glinted a bit with vexation.

"The money?"

The old man picked the heavy bag up and set it down on the table with a muted thud. Marcus proceeded to open it, inhaling sharply. With the amount of money this man had, he was lucky to have made it alive through the streets: 1.2 million dollars were crammed in the bag.

The hitman was experienced enough not to show his emotions, but there was an incredulous tone in his voice as he pulled out a picture of a young woman.

"All this for _her_?"

"Pretty, isn't she? What a crime."

"You listed revenge as your motive. What could she have done to you?"

"Everything. She and that man have denied humanity what was due to them, denied the world an era of peace, and denied this life of mine my own flesh and blood…"

A dark look came into von Raitenau's eyes, and anger seemed to cloud his features. There was a sullen silence.

"The surname sounds familiar. Aren't you related to the bioterrorist who started the GUILT epidemic?"

"That I am," he replied. "Anselm von Raitenau, the bastard child of Adam. Not that I am ashamed, it is a distinction I hold proudly…the last loyal one. Loyal enough to have survived my own mother, Adam's maid, who died in childbirth. Loyal enough to have survived a world war on the hope of seeing his own father. Loyal enough not to be caged up like that worthless grandson of his."

This was something serious. The creed of Marcus' work demanded that they simply kill or be killed without explanation, but this was a different scenario. Even in all his connections, Marcus had never heard of a case such as this…all of the cases he had done seemed to have been the lowest of the low killing their own kind. There was real danger, real life at risk, in this one...and he had to tread carefully.

"If I could I would have them dead, if they were not chosen to receive Bliss…" he continued. "But what is blood in the long run? I am sure you have seen plenty of it."

"What are you planning?" Marcus said with some force, and in a blatant rejection of the creed. If Anselm had not been swept in his rage, perhaps he would have stopped. But he continued.

"It is genius…that doctor, the rebel of the natural order is not to be killed. Oh no, I will twist him to see the folly of his ways when he finds that there are people he cannot save. Those who try to keep life will lose it, but those who lose it will live on…"

Another silence, and Anselm's rage seemed to subside. The berserk expression appeared to lighten.

"So…I have told you, though I should not have. There is much you cannot comprehend. Will you be the enemy of my enemy…or have I misplaced my trust?"

It was a poisonous tone and a poisonous threat, Marcus remarked. He was so used to being feared as a bounty hunter that it did more than just ruffle him. He thought about that doctor and the woman he had to kill. A brilliant man and a beautiful woman, presumably his nurse. There was a small voice, nagging in his heart but repulsed by his mind, that he would come to regret this.

Could it have been…_remorse_? No, certainly not. That was a childish response, cast away from his childish self that night when he was forced to become a man and act in the ways of men. Not even the first life he took with his own hands deserved such response; how could this be any different? Perhaps the fact that this conflict was ever opened was the thing that unsettled him. A man of blood as him could ill afford to act in such a way.

Marcus' face hardened. "It will be done."

The transaction complete, the two men got up, one hired death, and the other his client. There would be blood to pay.

* * *

**UPDATE (8/12/2010)**


	10. Business to Be Done

**The plot thickens in this chapter...it may be confusing, but I promise you it's an important one.**

* * *

**Business to Be Done**

In the back room, Marcus finished assembling his pistol. It was a derringer, and could only hold one bullet, but its chief advantage was that it had been custom made in plastic. It had cost many a bounty to buy, but its complete lack of metal parts and ability to be completely concealed made it the ultimate weapon of stealth.

Opening a cabinet, he took a small box of cartridges he had handloaded himself according to his own specifications. Owing to advances in underworld technology, these cartridges allowed the diffusion of poison housed inside the bullet straight into the bullet wound itself. Perhaps seeing his father waste away from an infected wound had made an indelible impression on him, for the poison Marcus loaded in the cartridge would kill without fail in a matter of minutes.

The other thing was the packet. On the streets of Angeles Bay, the famed LAPD were still a force to be reckoned with. He could not afford to get caught on such a little case. But that was easily remedied. A quick little spark in the middle of gang turf would start a fair fire. Just a simple adjustment on the timer, and it would be good. He stuffed the packet in an old brown bag.

The old man had already left…that man was another one of the sleazebags that hired him. There was something about him, though, that still seemed quite dangerous. Some sort of…fanaticism? Marcus could not quite place the word to describe him.

Feelings and instincts aside, there was business to be done.

* * *

Anselm walked into a secluded alleyway. He had not taken his dose today…and he needed to. Eternity could only last a matter of hours. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a couple of very small ampoules. _Which one was it? _He checked the minute lettering, and confirming one of them to be the one he needed, he stuffed the rest into his pocket.

This was the parasite that no one knew, save himself. Not even his father, valiant as he was. The whole world and his father thought that Bliss was the highest form, the savior. But Bliss was volatile and unreliable; its imperfection was its ignorance. It had taken years to find true perfection, to refine and mold it, to combine genomes and proteins and deeper, darker secrets that he had memorized by heart from Delphi's destroyed documents. With this Anselm had made Eternity.

Anselm loaded the ampoule of Eternity into his special syringe. He was in the middle of rolling up his sleeve when a hand grasped his arm.

"Sorry man…but ya gotta play by the rules here."

Anselm looked to see who was grasping him. It was a gaunt man who reeked of decay…the smell was overpowering and yet so familiar.

"And they are?"

"If you bring enough for one, ya gotta bring enough for the party."

From the shadows emerged several other men, most of them with the same gaunt, emaciated look, but a few with an unusual bulk. Anselm knew immediately what they were. They were the dregs of society that Delphi had operated on first, men who were not fit to live by any standard. Society was far too kind to them, but did not miss them even when they disappeared in a wave of sudden, unexplained abductions. If healing the body was repugnant, pumping it full of chemicals for selfish euphoria was equally disgusting.

At this point Anselm tallied up the situation. There were six of them, and one of him. If he could just get his Eternity in, though, he could use that strength with his own fighting skill to escape. The junkie who had grasped his arm just kept talking and talking…clearly unfocused. With a swift motion Anselm kneed him in the stomach, freeing himself from his hold, turned, plunged the syringe into his arm when…

WHAM.

One of the junkies had looped around the entrance and hit him in the back of the head with a two-by-four. He was stunned just long enough for the other junkies to catch up. Half-instinctually, half-dazedly, he collapsed to the floor, as they pulled out his syringe, beat him, and pulled at his clothes. He had only managed to inject a little bit…but his consciousness was drifting away…in the haze he thought he saw the junkies run away with fright. And then, there was only the sound of screeching tires and gunfire and curses and the groans of dead men.

* * *

Marcus sputtered by in a shitty car provided by his connections, painted in the right colors, of course. Just a flash of blue and white in these parts and you would be dead, regardless of who you were. That was how it was when the city was Los Angeles, and putting on a glossy new paintjob and a name change wouldn't make people forget the old.

He parked on the side of the street. There were parking meters, but they were bent in decidedly Seussian fashion. After all, a good bar like "Skull and Bones" didn't deserve to get its clientele discouraged. A bar on the exterior and the first floor of the interior; its cavernous basements boasted a marvelous headquarters and lab.

Marcus was blasted by a wave of smoke as he opened the door. Not even a fragrant type of smoke, but the mingled vapors of a thousand shitty cigarettes doing battle with the scent of fresh-rolled herb and smuggled cigars. He was the only white man the bar had seen a long time, but they knew who he was, and patrons kept quiet.

He ordered a beer. He never took a forty when he had a job. The bartender seemed to know, sending a slightly smaller glass his way. Still, it was nice to take a drink, because it was fucking hot out. He hadn't gone out in a while.

Marcus got up to go use the men's restroom, the back alley. Only women had a legit restroom. He relieved himself, then took the package from his coat and tossed it in the dump. It was timed to explode as soon as the sun set. Besides, he liked this bartender, not the one in the next shift. Would Marcus be suspected for what would happen? Not at all. He was a trusted customer, and he had taken care to procure some of the legit explosives from the other side. All the evidence would point to them.

The bus stop was three blocks away. The ride to Caduceus would take a while, and he didn't feel like driving that shitty diesel again.

* * *

Anselm woke very suddenly in the alleyway. Hurt like hell. He slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off. One on one, he could have easily fended them off, but that surprise attack to the back of his head had really knocked the wind out of him. He checked his pockets. Out of some miracle, he had not been frisked. The vials were still intact, though his syringe, which lay about ten feet from him, had snapped in half.

Damn it. There was only one other way to get Eternity into his bloodstream in the absence of his syringe. There wasn't much else he could do, but he had to do it while he still had a bit of Eternity in his bloodstream, or else it would take at least three days to heal.

From the depths of a coat pocket he drew a Luger, the one he had owned since WWII. He had a few cartridges as well, the same that Marcus used to load poison. With slightly trembling hands he managed to load up some Eternity into the bullet, which he loaded into magazine of the Luger.

Anselm looked at the gun contemplatively before pointing it right next to his thigh. Without a moment's hesitation he pulled the trigger, firing the bullet straight through the meat of his thigh. The pain was enormous…blood was pouring out, and he was afraid for an instant that Eternity would simply leak out. But then he saw it working, and he sighed.

It started with a tingle around the bullet wound, and then the blood flow stopped abruptly. The wound seemed to close up, the blood coagulating as though the healing process had been put into fast motion. Soon it turned into a scab, and in a minute or two the scab had fallen off, leaving behind a slight scar where the bullet hole had been. A wound that would have taken months to heal was just an unpleasant memory in fifteen minutes. Not only that, but the other wounds that he had sustained in the fight had healed completely. It was a compound that could have changed the whole face of medicine, but they were not worthy to wield such power.

_Only the son of Adam can be worthy_, Anselm thought as he pocketed the Luger and walked out of the alley without any limp whatsoever.


	11. Setting Sun

**Finally, getting on to one of the most crucial chapters (and perhaps one of the most awaited). Things are starting to turn full circle. Events described may or may not be based on real-life experiences.

* * *

**

**Setting Sun**

The air in Angeles Bay may be unwholesome at times with the distant haze that hangs about it, but come sunset, beauty arises from the unsightly. The fuzziness of the sky gives it a blurred pastel tone. Some days, the distant smog turns into a golden-brown crust with fluffy clouds and a bright sun on top. Other days, the entire sky is saturated with magenta, with fuchsia-purple clouds scattered all about. On those rare days where the air is clear and the sun is bright and yellow, one can look far across the sea and catch a glimpse of the isthmus of Catalina Island floating thinly upon the waters. The sun seems to set into the island, as if Catalina is the portal to the other side of the world.

Of the buildings in Angeles Bay, the rooftop of Caduceus USA was high enough to command such scenic views. Derek and Angie had discovered this fact shortly after their transfer one day, when they were supposed to have break for dinner. From that first sunset on, break was never for food anymore. Dinner could wait until it became a late-night meal. Love could not.

"It's a really clear day today. This ought to be a good one," Angie said excitedly as they climbed the stairs to the rooftop.

"Yeah," a voice replied behind her. "It'll be good."

Derek nervously reached into his pocket and grasped the box, praying silently to himself. He had planned this day for a long while now. He had chosen a ring with much "expert advice" guiding it. He had received her daddy's blessing in prison. He had even checked the meteorological report to make sure he picked the best, clearest sunset. For once, everything was set up perfectly.

The stair climb seemed to take an eternity. He was inexpressibly happy, but at the same time, he felt his heart hammer up into his throat. The ring seemed to weigh him down as he climbed in nervous anticipation.

Their viewing point was the same every time: a concrete slab overlooking the west side that acted as a makeshift bench. As soon as Angie emerged from the stairwell, she ran to the slab with a burst of excitement, sitting down and beckoning Derek. He approached slowly with that smile that he always did. As he sat down she quickly grasped him by his coat and kissed him. Derek embraced her slender body as he returned it passionately. So far, it was just the usual.

"I've been missing that for a long time," Angie said with a smile.

"A long time being a day ago, of course."

"Oh, Derek. Every day's a long day…patients to treat, paperwork to complete, supper to skip, sunsets to watch…"

Derek laughed. "Okay, okay, I get it."

She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I could just take a nap right here."

"You'd be missing the sunset then. Look how clear the sky is! I think I do see Catalina over there."

Derek ran his fingers softly through her cool hair, sighing contently. The sun was starting to fall now.

"I wish I could see a sunrise some time with you."

Angie made a glance upwards.

"I wish I could too. Maybe we could wake up early and do that sometime?"

"Maybe, if I could wake up early in the first place."

"You're so lazy, Derek," Angie giggled, punching him in the ribs. "Why'd you bring up the sunrise in the first place then?"

"Well, I think I could wake up early for the sake of something lovely. You know, just wake up and see that it's there, first thing in the morning."

Angie sat up, looking at Derek. There was always something up when Derek went into introspective mode. She held his hands and noticed that they were cold when they were usually so warm and comforting.

"Your hands are cold, dear…if you have something to say, just say it."

She had the sparkle in those green eyes of hers whenever she was curious about something. Derek had learned to recognize it, but even still it made him want to spill every inner thought and emotion in his mind to her. Maybe someday…but this was not the time. _Just take it nice and easy. Nice and easy._

"Until we sat out here that day and looked at the sunset, I never knew how beautiful they were. I guess I never stopped to look at them and appreciate them…but I guess the more beautiful things you see the more beauty you're able to appreciate."

He kissed her softly on the forehead before going on.

"You're one of those beautiful things, Ang. Like any beautiful thing—like this sunset or a present or something—I'm willing to wait for it and see it unfold. But you know what? Sometimes, I think it would be awesome to just have that beautiful thing by your side, all the time. I want it to be you."

Angie sniffed a little bit. She could sense what was coming next…she wanted him to get to the point, but at the same time she could listen to him forever.

"Keep…keep talking, Derek. I want to hear."

"Angie, you're like the sun. You light up my life with pink and yellow and purple and every color around. I want to rise just like the sun in the morning when I wake up, and I want to see you set and fall asleep at my side like the sun right now. And if it's overcast or if it's raining and storming outside…it doesn't matter. I would already have the sun at my side."

"Derek…"

"I want to be able to see the sun set and the sun rise together with you forever. I want you to be with me not only during the day but also the night, whether I'm awake or I'm sleeping. I realized, after all these desires, that I need to be with you. Will you be with me?"

Angie breathed heavily now, smiling with small tears of joy at her eyes. Finally…promise of a life together. She had waited so long for this moment…it was more beautiful than she could imagine.

In the distance a cloud seemed to form in the distance, in an otherwise clear sky. Neither of them noticed in their rapture.

"Yes. Yes, I will!"

She embraced him suddenly, and the torrent let loose. He patted her on the back, embrace for an embrace now, just whispering the most wonderful things into her ear.

Another cloud condensed in the background.

Finally the floodgates closed, and Angie stopped crying. Everything seemed to dry instantaneously. She was looking into his eyes now, brown to green, green to brown. She felt as if she could only whisper now.

"Tell me…what I've wanted to hear for so long. Do it, now."

Derek's hand shifted ever so slowly from her side, caressing her as he reached for his pocket.

Another cloud.

Derek's gaze was unbroken as he disengaged himself from her for the briefest moment.

Another cloud.

He dropped down to one knee on rough concrete, but there was no pain here.

Yet another cloud.

His hand reached to his pocket as his mouth seemed to form another word.

And another cloud.

His fingers closed around the box, slowly lifting it to show it the fading light of day.

Another cloud, and this time a man approaching, stopping some five feet away from the couple. His pistol seemed to point at the very sun.

"How precious."


	12. The Deed is Done

**Well, finally back to updating this. I'm not hardcore enough to do NaNoWriMo, but I will make it my goal this November to finish this story once and for all! After three years!**

* * *

**The Deed is Done**

Derek wheeled around, instinctively pushing Angie off the bench and onto the ground. Somehow, subconsciously he was able to realize the danger of the situation. The tenderness of the moment seemed to freeze instantly.

There was a man with a pistol standing before him. He wore a balaclava that only exposed his eyes and mouth. Although he had a broad build, there was something about this man that seemed as if he could shrink and blend in to his surroundings without trouble.

"Wh—who are you?"

"I've come here for business, Dr. Stiles."

A sudden fear rose up in his throat, but by force of will he resisted the urge to scream. "How do you know my name?"

"That's not your business."

"What are you up to? What do you want from me?"

The gunman's answer was brusque. "Her."

_How did he get here? Why Angie?_

"You can't have her!"

The man made a single step closer, gun aimed at Derek. He said nothing. He didn't need to.

_Who would do such a thing? Someone is behind this…this is no crazed gunman. I—I need to keep Angie safe!"_

"Did you hear me? I said you can't have her!"

"Dr. Stiles. Let me remind you that you are not in a position to bargain. As it stands, I have a bullet chambered here that is not intended for you. Don't make me shed more blood than I need."

"How do you know my name?"

Derek was trembling now, half with fear, half with rage. What those two emotions made mixed together he could not quite describe. All he knew was that Angie was in danger.

"I know both your names, Derek Stiles and Angela Thompson. But it's of little consequence. I know all I need to know to do the deed. If you comply, you will be unhurt."

"Derek…" Angie whimpered, still sprawled out on the floor.

"Don't say anything, Angie. Even if it's the last thing I do, I WON'T let him!"

"Quite a commitment, Dr. Stiles. Are you sure you would give up so much just for her? Even a life you could possibly give to saving the sick and dying? How could you be so selfish? What is one life for the life of hundreds, perhaps thousands…?"

"That has NOTHING to do with this!" Derek roared. The assassin's finger seemed to tighten suddenly on the trigger, but he slowly relaxed it, so forceful was Derek's reply.

"Listen, I have no idea why you're here or who you're with, but this is twisted. You want to kill an innocent woman for money, and yet you call me the bad guy? How could you…"

This was not the response the assassin expected. He was fully prepared to end Derek right then and there, but it was against the mission. There was something different about this man that he had to admire. All those people he had killed were not fit to live—greedy and self-absorbed even up to death, what with their bribes and pleading for their lives—but he could not bring himself to kill this man. Still, he could continue to threaten him. He took a deliberate step forward, gun still pointed at him.

By this time, the sky was overcast, and a single rain drop fell on his pistol, sliding down to the ground. Derek was still shaking, but his face was pale and defiant. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the patter of raindrops and the wind that was starting to pick up.

"Please. Sir. Don't do this."

"I have no choice."

"I know you don't want to! Please, just don't touch her. Take me instead. Whoever hired you must be going for me."

"NO!" Angie made a motion to leap up, but Derek forcefully pushed her back down before she could expose herself.

"Angie, I would give my all to see you safe. Even if it means dying for you."

"This isn't negotiable," the assassin said, but his mind he could hear that gunshot again, hear that struggle again, and see those bloodstains from that night. "She must die."

"Derek, don't throw your life away. He's looking for me. I'll die if it means you're safe."

"Angie, no! I would die for you."

"But that's not what he wants. He could force his way on us. Just let me do it, Derek."

"No…" Derek had a tear in his eye.

"Sir?" Angie asked, as she was getting up. "I'll die if it means that Derek is safe. After all, you're trying to get me. Will you let us have a few last words with each other?"

The assassin was amazed. He had never heard of someone accepting their fate so stoically. She took his hesitation as a yes.

"Derek…you've made me so happy. I thought one day, maybe I could have been with you forever."

With tears in his eyes, Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. He was about to open it and show her the ring, but she stopped his hand.

"Please don't. You would break my heart." Tears pooled in her eyes. "Be strong, Derek," she whispered, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He grabbed her and returned it, savoring it for as long as he could as the rain started to fall torridly. Finally it ended. She forced herself to pull away from the love of her life and turned to face the assassin.

"Do it. Do what you came for."

The assassin seemed to freeze there for a long time, before finally pulling the ski mask over his head, revealing his face. A bolt of lightning pierced through the darkness as they saw his face, full of anguish. It was tantamount to surrendering and leaving the job incomplete. His finger tightened slowly on the trigger until…

_Bam._

The impact of the bullet shattered her heart and knocked her back into Derek's arms. Blood stained her chest as he felt her spasm in her dying throes. He let out a broken scream, watching as her eyes dulled, seeing nothing.

"No…"

"So weak," the voice of the killer sneered.

Marcus' eyes were wide as he slowly turned his head to Anselm, whose Luger was pointed directly at Angie's direction. Slowly he let down his unfired weapon.

"Do you see what you've done, Derek Stiles? You ruined her life, just as your medicine and your tampering with the natural way led to so many lives ruined. Think of all the suffering and prolonged pain you caused…"

Derek choked back his sobs, looking up. As another flash of lightning came he thought he could see the face of death again…

"Adam!"

The grim figure smirked in the darkness. "Quick to catch on. Adam is dead. You killed him just as I killed your beloved nurse. Perhaps you will feel the same pain that I, Anselm von Raitenau, his only true son, felt when he died. And oh! What glory he left me as his son!"

"What are you talking about?" Derek shouted at him over the rain and thunder.

"GUILT lives, Derek, GUILT lives. You may have thought you had destroyed it, but you can never destroy death…what could a worthless doctor like you do?"

"You're a madman!" This time it was Marcus' turn to shout.

"Oh yes, I have an account to settle with you too, Marcus. Just as worthless as Stiles here. Take your reward!"

He fired at Marcus twice, hitting him square in the chest. Marcus felt them rip through him like fire…the end was here, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to go down without a fight. With darkness quickly eating away at his vision he fired back once at Anselm's direction, but before he could squeeze another round he hit the ground hard, and all was gone.

Derek did not watch at all, but he could hear the madman's cry of pain and the sound of his flight back down the way he came. He could care less though. All he wanted now, for the first time, was to die there and then. And slowly it came, but it was darkness that seemed less dark than dark. It was the smell of rain becoming an odor unbearably sharp before it faded away to nothing.

He collapsed over her body as it started to hail.

* * *

Anselm had narrowly managed to get out of the hospital. The bullet had grazed his cheek, and for some reason he did not know, it filled him with panic.

_As __long__ as __I__ have __Eternity, __I__ am__ safe. __Not __even __his __poison __could __kill __me_.

But still, there was an urgent need in him to make sure. He ran into an alleyway, pulling out his Luger. He took out the magazine to check…it was empty.

A sudden wave of horror overtook him as he patted his pockets in search of Eternity, but found nothing. He must have misloaded it after that hit to the back of the head he sustained. Where was Eternity now? The agony of the realization gripped him at the same time his previous dose started to wear off.

The pain started in his abdomen, but it worked its way up until he thought that everything in him—his head, his chest, every bone—seemed to be on fire from the inside. What was supposed to be a toxin that instantly killed now seemed to take an eternity to kill.

And even as he expired, the burning pain did not seem to cease.


	13. Grief

**Grief**

"Oh God!"

Derek bolted awake, panting heavily, covered with sweat. The dream had been unnaturally vivid, so much so that as he slowly glanced around the room it seemed to him less real to him. It was still a room in Caduceus, with the same old window and same old chair to the side. Somehow, it was still raining outside, too. It had already been a week, and the storm still had not abated.

Mercifully Derek's illness had largely passed, although he was still rather weak, and a general feeling of malaise still plagued his walk. He probably could have been released already, but with no one to really look after him, he had made the decision to stay until he was almost recovered.

Derek, for the first time, did not relish his recovery. It was still terribly, terribly painful to live without Angie. Perhaps the only good thing he could think of was that he could go to Angie's wake today. It would be a small one for a few friends and family.

Normally saving a body unpreserved for such a long time was not a good idea, but they had reported that her body, for some strange reason, had seen no decay. It went against everything Derek had learned…but then again, GUILT went against everything he had learned as well.

He had not seen her for so long. The void would not be easy to fill; after all, they saw each other every day. They lived in the same apartment building, one floor away from each other, carpooling with each other to and back from work. From sun up to sun down, Angie filled his life. And now she was gone.

Derek was in the middle of these moody thoughts when a knock came at the door. He recognized it as Leslie's knock.

"Come in, Leslie."

"Hanging in there, Derek?" Leslie asked as she came in with a bundle of clothes.

"Barely."

"I went to your apartment and brought you some clothes to change into when we go to the wake later today."

There was a bit of a stunned silence. "I can't believe it's been this long…"

Leslie sat down on the side of his bed, placing the clothes at its foot. "I can't believe it either."

Another long silence ensued, before Derek asked, "How are you taking it?"

"I—sometimes I just cry without any warning. I'll just hear something or see something and then I just need to leave to compose myself. Before I go to bed I cry for half an hour…if it wasn't for Tyler I wouldn't know what I would do."

A fleeting thought of envy passed by before it softened. "I'm glad you two have each other," Derek said. "I wouldn't want anyone else to have my misery."

And then it came. He just cried. There was no real reason for him to cry, but it just felt as if a sudden burst of emotion had spontaneously built up, and the only way he could let it out was to cry. It felt so stupid and pointless…but nothing else would do. She was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Leslie's hand slipped over and grasped his hand. He didn't need to look up at her to know that she was weeping along with him too.

"I miss her. I really do."

"We'll see her again. Today."

"I wouldn't want to leave her, Leslie."

"We could never separate you two, even if we tried."

When he had finally finished crying it seemed as if a little bit of the massive weight was gone. A little bit. It was so much better with Leslie sharing in his pain.

"I want to stay by her side for a while. You wouldn't mind?"

Leslie got up to continue with her rounds. "No. I wouldn't."

* * *

**The last few chapters have been especially heavy and plot-laden, so here's some much needed filler/return to Derek's point of view.**** Just 2-3 more chapters left!**


	14. One Use Only

**Well, here am I again! It's been a hiatus of a year now, and for some reason I refuse to give up the ghost. The end is in sight! This one is a short one, but an important one, as hopefully you will see. My goal is to finish by the end of the year, but depending on circumstances that may or may not happen.**

* * *

**One Use Only**

"So that's what happened! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Alexander as they exited from Derek's dream.

"I may have been a soldier of fortune, but I never laid a hand on the innocent," Marcus said quietly as he stood there.

"What now? There's not much time left." Angie was getting a bit nervous.

"I think it makes a little more sense now," said Marcus, drawing a key out that had been hanging around his neck. It was a golden skeleton key. On it was inscribed, "One use only."

Angie gaped at the key. Alexander, however, was a bit angry. "You had that all along?"

"Before I woke up and found myself here, I had a dream where this key suddenly appeared hanging down my neck. I was about to take it off and throw it away because it seemed so useless, but then I heard my mother's voice again. She—she told me that I could use the key to join them instead of waiting here for God knows how long. When I woke up and walked around and I saw the gates, I knew that this key could open it. I went up to the gates and I put it in the lock…it fit perfectly. Just one turn and I would never need to worry again. I could see them again. But something inside me just couldn't do it."

"Why?" Alexander's anger had dissipated entirely.

"I don't know. Here I was with the thing that could fulfill my desires for an eternity, but for the first time I couldn't follow through. It wasn't a doubt or anything, I had no doubt that this was it. It wasn't suspicion…I've seen what a trap is, and this wasn't one. It was just a feeling of emptiness. A feeling of _that was it, that's all I have to do?_ A feeling that this wasn't for me; this key was made for someone else."

Slowly he yanked at the cord carrying the key until it snapped, then held it out to Angie.

"This is for you."

Angie stared at the dangling key, trying to fathom the choice that lay behind it. She glanced at his face, which was calm, resolute, even resigned to his fate.

"What about you?"

Marcus shrugged. "I don't know how I'm not down under, but if I'm here, there has to be some reason to it. I'm prepared to wait. Even if it takes another lifetime."

"But I don't understand—"

He took her hand and placed the key in her open palm, staring with his piercing eyes straight into hers.

"Listen, I know that by giving up this chance I might never be called. Those gates might never open for me. Hell, I don't even deserve to have those gates open for me, after all of the things I've done. But I have a gut feeling, and my gut feelings have always been correct, that I'm heavenbound. It's going to happen."

He let go of her hand and stepped back. "You can never know how free I feel...having gone through my whole life with nothing to have faith in, and now with the first real conviction I've ever had in my existence."

It seemed like they stood for a long time with the mist swirling at their feet and the serene ambient noise curling around them. But finally it was Angie who broke the silence.

"Thank you."

As she turned around and walked towards the door, instead of a feeling of triumph at having finally reached the end of her journey, she felt a pit of nervousness in her stomach. Each step seemed to plod on and on, the door seeming so close and yet so far.

When they had reached the door they said their final goodbyes. She hugged Alexander first.

"Thank you so much. I can see why Derek misses you so much."

"I can see why he loves you so much. Take care of him for me."

He shot her a familiar smile. It sent shivers down her spine to realize that father and son had the exact same broad grin. It was a smile that she missed greatly, and at that moment it hit her that she was coming back to life.

She hugged Marcus next, wrapping her arms around his broad waist. He half-returned the hug, ruffling her hair with the other hand in a brotherly way.

"Thank you so much, Marcus."

"It was worth it, Angie."

Slowly she inserted the key into the lock as the other two watched with bated breath. She held her breath as she turned the key, only to sigh with relief when it turned smoothly with a click. Turning the knob, Angie leaned against the door and pushed with her eyes closed, falling into life as if it were the door into another dream.

Or, at least, that was what she had expected.


End file.
